


Straightness

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's straight. That's the important thing to get here, seeing as Ray has Fraser's cock up his ass at the moment, and most people might think that is, you know, not so straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straightness

 

Fraser gives it to Ray a half-inch at a time, so slowly that Ray’s maybe going to die of waiting. It’s just Fraser’s finger, and if it’s taking this long to get Fraser’s goddamned _finger _inside him, it’s gonna be fucking forever before Ray gets anything more.

 

It’s already taken too long, what with the have-you-done-this-befores and the proper preparation preventing whatever, and, yeah, the slick was good, that was a good idea, and Ray’s glad they used lots of it, but this discussion he can do without. Because a) Ray’s cock is hard up against his belly, it’s leaking like gangbusters, and Ray’s breathing real hard, he’s sweating and he’s white-knuckling the sheets and 2) _of course_ he hasn’t done it before; what has Fraser put in his pemmican?

 

“No, I haven’t done this before. _You_ haven’t done this before. We are _straight_ guys, Fraser, and straight guys have not done this kind of thing before.”

 

He doesn’t think about the fact that tomorrow he will have done this kind of thing before.

 

Except that still doesn’t count, because even tomorrow, he will only have done it with Fraser.

 

And Fraser’s different, Fraser’s special, he’s…the rules for everybody else don’t seem to apply to Fraser, and that even goes for the usually non-negotiable rules like _gravity. _Ray’s seen it enough times to know. The guy’s a freak of nature.

 

Ray figures one more freaky Fraser thing ain’t going to bring the sky falling down on anybody.

 

“If you say so, Ray,” Fraser says calmly, and works a second lubed finger up Ray’s ass alongside the first one.

 

“You’re not saying you _have_?” Ray says in disbelief. He’s on his hands and knees on the bed, and he has to look over his shoulder to see Fraser’s face, which is looking kind of sheepish. If Fraser had a hand free, he’d be rubbing at his eyebrow, but he doesn’t have a hand free. He’s holding Ray firmly by one hip and putting two fingers of the other hand into Ray, and—_oh_—now he’s putting three fingers into Ray, and Ray’s feeling himself stretch and open to Fraser, and it’s just…it’s so…wow.

 

“Well, no. Not as such.”

 

“‘Not as such’? What the hell does that mean? Have you or haven’t you?” Ray’s gasping, but this is important.

 

“Er, um…no. I haven’t, Ray.” Like he had to decide first.

 

“Ever touch a guy’s cock?”

 

“Yours is the first, Ray.”

 

“Good, that’s…that’s good.” Ray opens his mouth again to say something more, but Fraser’s big fingers hit a certain spot inside Ray right then, and no words come out, only a grunt that even Diefenbaker would be embarrassed to make. “Ohmygod,” Ray finally groans when he can. “Oh, my God, Fraser, do that again!”

 

And Fraser, being polite and obliging and Canadian and all, does it again, twists his fingers up inside Ray, and Ray thinks it isn’t going to matter in a moment whether he ever gets his cock touched, because he’s going to come all over the place if Fraser so much as shifts those fingers by a whatsis, a millimeter.

 

But Fraser doesn’t move a millimeter, because he knows, Fraser _knows, _and how does he know? And Ray’s in danger of dying of waiting all over again.

 

Fraser finally slides his fingers out, _whoosh_, and that’s kind of hot and kind of weird at the same time, but Ray’s okay with it, and maybe he’s ready and Fraser’s going to…finally…_finally…_

Fraser leans up over Ray’s back and kisses the back of his neck a little and smoothes the short hair there, and then he’s saying, “Would it be all right if I…that is, if you’re quite…could I enter you now, Ray?” and Ray’s saying, “Hurry up, for God’s sake,” and then something fucking huge is pressing against Ray’s ass, then pressing _into_ Ray’s ass, and even with all the slick, there’s a little stretchy burn right there at the rim.

 

“Breathe,” Fraser’s saying in Ray’s ear, and Ray tries to do it. Because breathing’s good. Breathing he can do. So he breathes and bears down (he read somewhere that it helps, and don’t ask where he read it) like he’s pushing back against the intruder, which is—God—it’sFraser’s thick cock, and in just a moment, one second after Ray splits wide open and dies right there on his comforter, it’ll be good, it’s gonna be _really _good, Ray can tell.

 

So he’s saying, _fine, Fraser, split me apart any old way you like._ He’s not saying it with words, but his body’s saying it loud and clear, and he knows Fraser reads him.

 

It’s not like Fraser hasn’t already split Ray’s heart open six ways from Saskatoon, and anyway, Ray asked for this, even though he already knew he might come apart at the seams because Ray’s kind of really _straight _here, remember, and has never done this with a guy. He doesn’t even _look_ at guys, you know. Not even guys as fucking gorgeous as Fraser, which if there _was_ anyone like that, Ray wouldn’t look.

 

So this isn’t just Ray trying something athletic that he never tried before, and knowing he’ll be sore tomorrow. This is a goddamn fucking _earthquake_ in Ray’s life, and it’s going to shake him down to his core.

 

And he _knew_ that, Ray knew that, and he asked for it anyway.

 

Just like that first day, in the burning car hurtling toward the lake, flying out over the water. Inside, Ray’d shut off the engine and cracked the window open so he’d be able to kick it out underwater, and the whole time he refused to think about how he couldn’t swim. He knew it was gonna hurt, and he did it anyway, because Fraser made him believe it was the right thing to do.

 

Lying here under Fraser, letting him push his cock inside him, feels so _right_, too. Fraser’s already inside Ray in so many other ways. Half the time they think each other’s thoughts, and when they don’t, it hurts, like it hurt before they boarded the Henry Allen. They’re like two magnets that pull together; this thing between them is a phenome-whatsits, like in physics, it’s gonna happen, whether they resist or not.

 

The only way to keep magnets apart is to force them far enough away from each other, put enough space between them, and in the week since Maggie Mackenzie left, Ray has realized that there’s a definite possibility that he and Fraser will be pulled apart after all. Because Ray knows what he saw in Fraser’s eyes; how Fraser misses Canada, how wistful he was when Maggie was here. The North is calling Fraser, and any day now, the Mounties are going to come to their senses and want him back, and if there’s nothing to hold him here, Fraser’ll go, and where will that leave Ray?

 

Alone, like he was before this Vecchio gig, alone and crying into his coffee again, only this time over Fraser instead of Stella.

 

So that’s what made Ray move now. Once you get two strong magnets stuck together, it’s that much harder to pry them apart, so Ray’s trying to stick together with Fraser as tight as he can.

 

If the North wants Fraser, it’s gonna have to fight Ray for him.

 

Ray isn’t totally sure Fraser understands that yet, but he trusted Fraser to go along with him tonight, and Fraser did, even though this has to be one of Ray’s wackier ideas—which don’t think Ray doesn’t get his share of wacky ideas, just like Fraser, because tonight is proof that he does.

 

Still, there was some logic to it, because Fraser’s a _guy_ under all that red serge, a guy who doesn’t get laid much if at all, just like Ray, and for a guy who doesn’t get laid, sex is about the most attracting thing there is.

 

And Fraser has neverpulled away from Ray’s touch, whether it’s Ray holding his hand in an alley long after he’s pulled Fraser to his feet, or Ray climbing all over him to switch drivers in the GTO, or Ray throwing an arm around him and pushing him out of the 2-7 after shift and buying him dinner.

 

It’s not like Ray ever minded Fraser’s touch, either. Heck, if he did, he wouldn’t have lasted one day with the guy, because Fraser pretty much manhandled him from the moment they met, which, all right, Ray was the first one to touch, seeing as he threw his arms around Fraser the minute he saw him, but that was his cover, Vecchio’s cover, and who wouldn’t hug his best buddy after he came back from vacation?

 

Okay, maybe a lot of guys wouldn’t, but a lot of guys aren’t Ray, and they aren’t touchy-feely Italians like Vecchio’s supposed to be, either. Anyway, Fraser paid him back a dozen times over that day, what with Fraser touching Ray’s inner thigh and calf (to prevent him from braking) and his ass (under the water, to haul him out of the lake), and his chest (to hold him up when he got shot) and his face (to wake him up after the bullet knocked the wind out of him). And that was just the first day.

 

Since then, there’s been lots of other touching, and Fraser’s been all right with every little bit of it, except for the time Ray hit him and then made Fraser hit him back. But he forgave Ray and that’s over and done with, and Ray promised himself he won’t ever hit Fraser again. Because what he really wants to do is make Fraser feel good, not bad. Make him happy. Make him stay.

 

Ray needs him to stay. Fraser’s his _partner_, the other half of the one-two punch, you set ’em up and I knock ’em down, the other voice in the duet. They’ve got this groove going that Ray’s never quite had with anybody else, not even Stella. How great is that, that Ray has a groove going with a freakin’ Superman from the North, a guy who does the impossible every day and twice on Sundays?

 

Fraser looks at him with that look that says _I know you can do it, Ray,_ and suddenly Ray can do the impossible, too. Ray has dived through glass windows five times since he met Fraser, including once on a motorcycle, and kayoed guys twice his size with a head butt, and survived near drowning four times (plus he nailed the perps every time), and saved an innocent woman from execution, and hell, hitting the grand slam in the clutch like that? That alone would’ve been worth all the times Fraser risked Ray’s life. Because, looking back, Ray has to admit it’s been a hell of a ride, this past year and a half since he’s been Fraser’s partner, and he doesn’t want it ever to end. What really, really rocks Ray’s world about Fraser is how Fraser made Ray believe in himself again.

 

And that is why being straight isn’t stopping Ray from lying here taking Fraser inside him, inch by inch.

 

Fraser’s like a freight train, he’s pushing in so ridiculously slowlythat it feels like that cock never ends, even though Ray knows it’s not _that _long; heck, Ray’s is longer. Ray’s is maybe even bigger around, too; it’s hard to tell. But, hey, that doesn’t mean Fraser isn’t _big, _because he is, and what’s important, anyway, is that Fraser’s cock is the one in Ray’s ass at the moment, not that anyone else’s would ever be. And Fraser’s cock is gonna split Ray apart; it’s thick and heavy and fucking _hard_ and it’s filling Ray up more than he thought was possible.

 

“Ray,” Fraser’s whispering into Ray’s left ear, and those sensitive lips are kissing the edge of Ray’s ear between every word. “I want you so much, Ray.”

 

Ray knows it’s true, not that the Mountie’d be saying it if it wasn’t, but Ray’s kind of known for a while. Sometimes he lies awake at night thinking about Fraser wanting him, and just that thought gets Ray so hard that he doesn’t dare move a muscle or he’ll come all over the sheets. Sometimes he puts his hand on himself and lets it happen, but up till now he’s usually tried to put the thought out of his head, because it’s just a little queer getting off on thinking about Fraser wanting Ray.

 

Ray’s body doesn’t seem to care whether Ray’s thoughts are queer, though. Fraser pushes harder and lets out a soul-deep groan and, _whoosh_, Ray’s obviously somehow figured out how to open up. He did it, they did it, Fraser’s in deep, Fraser’s_ inside _him_._

 

So now Ray’s a straight guy who just happens to have a big cock up his ass, and it…feels…wow. Different, but good. Great, even. The other straight guys out there, they ought to know about this. Well, not about Ray, specifically, just in general they ought to know how this feels, because they’re probably all screwing women, and, newsflash, _women can’t do this,_ not for real_._

 

Fraser’s inside all the way; Ray can feel Fraser’s balls touching him, and It’s. Fucking. Amazing.

 

Oh, yeah…_fucking…_they were going to do that. Right_. _“Fraser, move!” Ray says. He’s trying to keep it together, trying to stay balanced on his knees, and Fraser’s saying, “Sh, it’s okay, Ray, just ease down on the bed, partly on your side, yes, like that,” and Ray’s easing down with Fraser still all the way inside him.

 

Ray can do that, he’s all over that. He’s half on his side and Fraser’s hand is suddenly in the formerly ticklish place behind Ray’s left knee. Which isn’t so ticklish right now, because, hello, there’s a big honkin’ cock up Ray’s ass, and other sensations kind of get drowned out by that one.

 

Fraser’s pushing Ray’s knee forward, which turns out to be a really smart thing to do. No surprise there; most things Fraser does are smart, at least those that don’t involve jumping off buildings and facing down armed criminals with no gun. But this smart thing, getting Ray down sort of on his side and getting him to bend his knee a bit, is great, because it makes more room for Fraser to lie between Ray’s legs.

 

Ray breathes out and lets go some more, and he feels Fraser starting to move inside him. Ray’s hands are now free, since he no longer has to balance on them, and he finally remembers he _has _hands and, by the way, a cock, a cock that hasn’t been touched in way too long. So he grabs it and finds it’s soft, which is kind of weird, since he still feels really turned on. But he can fix that, because his ass doesn’t hurt any more, and Fraser’s cock is just now stroking that place inside Ray that made Ray almost come a few minutes ago.

 

Ray can’t help making a little sound every time Fraser’s cock slides over that magic spot. And Fraser’s really sliding now, in and out of Ray like he meansit, like he _needs _to, _needs Ray, _and how hot is that?

 

“Frase…Buddy…Ben…”

 

“Are you good, Ray?” Fraser breathes, sounding like maybe he’s on the verge of not being able to talk.

 

“I’m…good, Frase.” Ray gives a little shake to prove it.

 

That almost sends Fraser over, and the sweat is dripping off him onto Ray’s back, and Ray’s doing an okay job of getting the comforter damp and rumpled, himself. He can feel, now, that his ass is squeezing Fraser a little bit, tightening and releasing, and wow, that must feel amazing, he bets…he hopes.

 

And Fraser, as he fucks Ray—my God, that’s what he’s doing; he’s _fucking_ Ray—Fraser starts to murmur words, and at first Ray thinks Fraser’s saying them in French or Inuktitut or something, because it’s this singsong murmur, soft like a lullaby, repeating over and over. But then Ray starts to really hear the words, and they’re English after all:_ Ray, I wanted this so much, wanted you, and I never thought you’d…I thought you weren’t interested, _and _thank God, oh thank God…_

 

Ray’d be blushing all over if all the blood in his body wasn’t right at this moment collecting in his dick, which is hard again. His right arm’s half under him, not really free, but hey, in this, Ray’s ambidextrous, and he gets his left hand around his cock and strokes himself in the same rhythm that Fraser’s got going with the fucking. And, it’s, God, it’s so good.

 

Fraser’s lips are on Ray’s ear again, and he’s still talking, and Ray has no idea what he’s saying; something about _such strength and sweetness_ and_ are you still good, Ray?_

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m fine, I’m…” Ray’s not sure if Fraser can hear him, seeing as he’s mumbling into the pillow. But maybe Fraser can feel the answer in Ray’s body. Maybe he can tell that Ray’s comfortable now with Fraser inside him, that Ray’s really _loving_ Fraser fucking him.

 

_Good, _Fraser’s murmuring now, and that probably means he heard Ray after all. _You _are _good, Ray, you are wonderful. You are…God, you are so beautiful._

Beautiful?_ Ray? _Jeez.

 

“Straight,” Ray murmurs back. Not defiantly, just a reminder. Fraser’s obviously got a screw loose, not that Ray didn’t know that already.

 

“Oh, yes, obviously, so beautifully straight,” Fraser’s whispering. “Love that about you.”

“I love that about you, too,” Ray says back, hoping the pillow doesn’t muffle all of it, because he can’t really lift his face much with Fraser shoving him into it on every stroke. “Macho,” he adds. “Macho Mountie. Cowboy. Stetson.” He’s starting to not make sense—if he ever was making any—because the pleasure is surging up and over him in waves, and his cock is leaking like crazy, slicking up his hand to almost match his ass for slippery. Fraser’s left hand is braced on the bed next to Ray, clutching and pulling at the comforter till the quilting stitches near Ray’s face start popping.

 

And when they go over the edge, they go together, yelling like maniacs, like they do when they’re jumping off a building into a lake or getting blown out of a lake by fire-extinguisher jets, or driving a burning car into a lake, and when Ray’s vision goes all sparkly, he almost swears he can see the cloud of rubber duckies falling all around them.

 

Then Ray is lying in a boneless heap on his bed, covered in come, his hand and his belly slick with his own and his ass slippery inside with Fraser’s. He works on catching his breath and he wipes sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand, and he has something to tell Fraser, but all that comes out is: “Wow.”

 

“Yes,” Fraser says, breathing kind of hard himself. He pulls out of Ray real carefully, and Ray’s ass feels startlingly cool where Fraser was, and then he feels wetness running down the backs of his thighs.

 

Fraser _oofs_ a little as he settles down on the bed next to Ray, and he’s a mess, too, sticky and wet and sweaty, with his hair going every which way. Ray thinks he’s more beautiful than ever like that, with his skin flushed all pink and his eyes so wide and blue, like maybe he keeps a piece of the Far Northwest sky there. Maybe the summer sky, all clear and beautiful after the snows are gone.

 

Ray’s the one who put that summer-sky look there, in those beautiful eyes. For a moment, Ray finds his breath’s gone again. Lucky for him he has a buddy with excess lung capacity, he thinks, and smiles.

 

Maybe they should be falling asleep right now like guys supposedly do, but they’re not, because, God, this is _Ray _and _Fraser, _and after what they just did? Ray’s more awake than he’s ever been in his entire life.

 

“Okay. So. We still partners?” Ray finally asks.

 

Fraser gives him a funny look, and then the look gets funnier, and then Fraser starts laughing. “Well, yes, Ray, I should think so,” he says in that oh-so-reasonable voice of his. Between laughs.

 

Then it strikes Ray funny, too, and he’s laughing right along. “You should, huh?”

 

“Yes!” Fraser laughs harder, holding his stomach, and Ray’s laughing with him and looking into those summerblue beautiful eyes, and he pulls Fraser into a hug. He feels Fraser’s arms go around him and hug him back, plastering him up against Fraser’s sticky, sweaty chest.

 

Fraser puts his mouth closer to Ray’s, like he’s thinking about kissing him, and then stops, and a little frown scrunches up that pretty downturned mouth of his.

 

They just _fucked_, but they’ve never really kissed, how weird is that? It’s Ray’s fault, because he pulled away like an idiot when Fraser was offering him those gorgeous lips the first time. Which, not that Ray really wanted to pull away, but he’d taught himself to do stuff like that, a long time ago. Kissing was girly, kissing was queer, right? So Ray was not up for kissing his partner.

 

After all, he figured out a while back that straight guys could fuck each other; they do it in prisons and they do it on Navy ships, and they probably do it other places they aren’t telling about. He’s not really sure what else straight guys can do together, but he’d have thought there was no way _kissing _would ever be on that list.

 

It’s just…he can’t stay away from that mouth, those beautiful lips. Maybe if he closes his eyes. It’ll be like it’s Fraser’s idea then, and anyway Ray kind of owes him whatever he wants after Fraser made him come like that.

 

*****

 

 

They’d left the 2-7 late, after 8, last ones on the day shift to leave Major Crimes, which wasn’t all that unusual, considering how much time it took to dot all the Is and cross all the Ts on the paperwork for the arson case, like Fraser always insisted on doing.

 

They’d grabbed some dinner at that greasy spoon around the corner that Fraser liked, and then they were in the GTO, with Ray driving and not really paying attention where he was driving. He realized only after they were almost there that he’d headed for his apartment, not the Consulate.

 

Ray glanced over at Fraser and was maybe going to apologize and turn the car around, but just at that moment, Fraser put his hand on Ray’s leg.

 

Which, you’d probably think that was where it started right there, but it wasn’t, because Fraser putting his hand on Ray? That was situation normal for them, no big deal.

 

“Stop, Ray,” Fraser was saying.

 

For a split second, Ray was afraid Fraser’d seen somebody jaywalking or something and was going to give Ray a hard time unless he let him out to lecture the person, but turned out it was only a yellow light that was about to go red, and Fraser didn’t want Ray zooming through it.

 

Ray stopped like Fraser wanted. And, yep, there were a couple of pedestrians crossing just past the intersection, and sure enough, they were jaywalking, which was just plain suicidal on this street, but Fraser wasn’t telling Ray to pull over. He was sitting there staring out the window like he didn’t even see them anymore, and his hand was still on Ray’s thigh, warm and solid.

 

Ray opened his mouth again to apologize, but then he shut it. Fraser hadn’t said anything about Ray going the wrong way, so maybe he wanted to go hang out with Ray, and that was fine.

 

The light turned green. Ray pushed down gently on the gas and then shifted into second, then third, then fourth, and he let up easy on the clutch, and Fraser’s hand was still on him, like maybe Fraser’d forgotten where he’d put it.

 

Ray glanced down at it quickly, then glanced back up to watch the road, because in Chicago, even at this time of night, you never knew what was going to suddenly jump in front of your car.

 

And Fraser’s hand was still on Ray’s leg.

 

It felt…comfortable there, Ray realized. Probably for both of them, seeing as how Fraser hadn’t moved it yet. And suddenly Ray knew: hello, here it was, the right time.

 

Ray cleared his throat. “You want to do something with me?” He kept his eyes really straight, watching the road carefully. Carefully not glancing at Fraser.

 

“Of course, Ray.”

 

It was not, it could _not_ be that easy. “I didn’t even say _what _yet.”

 

“I assume you’ll tell me at some point.”

 

Ray laughed, but it came out more like a snort, probably because of the butterflies in his stomach. “What if it’s something…_untoward?_” he asked. Untoward. Yeah, that was the Fraser-word for it.

 

“I trust you, Ray.”

 

Oh, yeah, like that was going to help Ray spit out what he wanted. Maybe after Ray told him, Fraser’d learn not to be so damn _trusting, _you think? And wasn’t that a weird and terrible thing for Ray to be thinking after he’d nearly drowned to win Fraser’s trust?

 

“Because you know me,” Ray said, and it wasn’t a question, but, still, he was checking.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because I’m your partner and your friend.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Ray ran a hand through his hair and didn’t even remember to do it gently so he wouldn’t disturb the spikes. “Well, it’s untoward.”

 

“Then why do you want to do it?” Fraser sounded so innocent. Ray knew that was all an act, but still. Damn.

 

“Because I…because I just…”

 

_I’m here because I’m here, because I’m here, because I’m queer…_and how did Beth Botrelle’s voice get inside his head? He hadn’t freaked when she said that; he’d known she was just going loony from being in prison, but still, he thought at the time that she knew, that she could see right through him. Which, at the time, he was so messed up that he thought probably anyone could. He’d made an extra effort after that to be even _straighter _than usual, and that explained the Luanne thing, which enough said about that.

 

Fraser was waiting patiently for Ray to spit it out. After several moments of silence, he finally started to lift his hand off Ray’s leg, and that was what finally unstuck Ray’s tongue from the roof of his mouth. Because if Fraser moved his hand, then the physical connection between them would be gone and the moment would have passed, another chance wasted. Because Ray thought he was maybe finally ready for it now.

 

Ready or not, Ray was going to have to do something, because he could see that wistful look creeping back up over Fraser’s face. That wistful look just might be homesickness. Even if Ray wasn’t totally, one hundred  percent ready, Ray had to go for it _now_.

 

He kept his eyes on the road, but he quickly closed his right hand over Fraser’s, gently, keeping it on his leg.

 

“Ray?”

 

“Look, Fraser, you don’t want this, just tell me.”

 

“Don’t want what?”

 

“This,” Ray said, and moved Fraser’s hand higher on his leg. A lot higher. Higher to where neither of them would be able to pretend Ray was asking anything except what he was asking. Right up to where Fraser’s fingertips grazed the crease in Ray’s jeans at the groin. Which was as far as Ray was going to go for now, since he didn’t want to crash the car or anything.

 

Lucky he was just pulling into his parking space right about then, otherwise he probably _would_ have hit something, even if Fraser hadn’t suddenly petrified. Ray actually had to concentrate to park the car, even though it was just head-in parking under the carport, and he didn’t need both hands to do it. He turned the key and reached over and pulled it out of the ignition with his left hand, and that took concentration, too.

 

Because his other hand was holding Fraser’s on him in a place that a guy just did not put his hand on another guy, unless there was serious intent there to do something _untoward_.

 

And Fraser _still_ wasn’t even trying to move his hand.

 

Fraser looked at him for a moment, seeming unfocused, like he was a little dazed or something. “Ray…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Fraser’s tongue darted out to his bottom lip, then disappeared. “All right, Ray.”

 

Ray turned Fraser’s hand in his so their hands were palm to palm, fingers entwined. He swallowed. “All right?”

 

“Yes. It’s all right.”

 

“You want to?” He had to hear Fraser say it because he couldn’t believe it, he almost couldn’t believe any of it.

 

“Yes, Ray, I want to.” Fraser smiled then, and he didn’t look homesick or sad anymore. His smile lit up his handsome face like anything.

 

“Okay. Okay.” Ray let go of Fraser’s hand. “Up. Let’s go…up. To the apartment.” He was doing that thing Fraser called “blithering,” so he shut up and just moved.

 

They got out of the car, and Fraser followed him up without a word.

 

They made it all the way up to the third floor and inside Ray’s apartment without speaking, without looking at each other. Ray shooed Fraser in ahead of him. He slammed the door shut a little too hard, shoved his keys in his pocket, and then thunked back against the door. He blew out a breath. His hands were shaking, damn it, but he couldn’t do anything about that.

  
Fraser was still standing there, just a couple feet inside the door, looking at the bi-fold doors of the hall closet like he might be thinking about stowing his coat, or like he was about to tell Ray a bi-fold door anecdote, but he didn’t do either one. He just looked down at his hiking boots for a minute, and his tongue came out and swiped over his lower lip real fast. He turned around and came back to where Ray was standing plastered to the inside of the door with his hands flattened on the wood, shaking, trying to hide that he was shaking.

 

Fraser came so close that Ray could feel Fraser’s breath on his cheek. “What did you…ah, what did you have in mind, Ray?” he said in a quiet voice, like you’d whisper in a library or a church.

 

Ray couldn’t say it in words. Not yet. He grabbed Fraser’s hand and pulled it back to his leg, to just about where it had been in the car. Then he pulled it one inch further in, which put Fraser’s fingertips right over his cock.

  
Fraser gasped. But he didn’t move his hand.

 

Ray was hard. God, Ray was so damn hard.

 

“Ray, are you sure?”

 

“Am I sure. Do you feel that, Frase? It ain’t my nightstick.”

 

“You don’t carry a nightstick, Ray.” Fraser’s hand was absolutely still.

 

“Not anymore. Still have one, though. Hall closet.”

 

“Oh,” Fraser said, and Ray knew that sound. It wasn’t a sound like Fraser was thinking about police equipment, that was for sure.

 

“This?” Ray said, tugging Fraser’s hand so it was right over his cock, pressing Fraser’s hand there, hard, harder. “This ain’t it.”

 

“No,” Fraser breathed. “No, it isn’t.” His hand twitched, once, on Ray, like he was being very careful not to freak Ray out.

 

“So…you still want to? With me?”

 

Fraser swallowed hard. Very. “Yes, Ray. Anything.”

 

“Anything? Even a real untoward thing?”

 

“Yes. Anything you want, Ray.” Fraser’s fingers spread out a little, just enough to cup Ray through his jeans, and that was a good sign that Fraser really meant it. So, okay. Good. Ray was going to say it, then.

 

“Fuck me,” Ray said. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

Ray’s hands were shaking. He let go of Fraser’s hand and pressed his palms back behind him, against the door. The door was solid wood. It was stationary. He willed his hands to be stationary, like the door.

 

Fraser just looked at him for a second, looked in his eyes real deep, like he was trying to understand how serious Ray was about this. He didn’t ask Ray whether he was sure again, though. He just nodded once, quickly, and then moved his hand off Ray’s crotch and hooked his fingers into the front of Ray’s t-shirt instead, twisting it a little, but mostly just using it to anchor himself, it looked like, as he leaned in towards Ray’s mouth like he wanted to kiss Ray. And God, Ray wanted to, he really wanted to feel those lips on his, but…but that would be really queer, that was really _gay_, wasn’t it? Gay, which Ray wasn’t. So Ray couldn’t, he couldn’t. He had to get Fraser clear on the parameters of this thing, right from the start.

 

Fraser must’ve seen Ray chickening out of the kiss, because he leaned a little more to the left and put his mouth on Ray’s throat instead. His tongue traced a line down the tendon all the way down to Ray’s collarbone. Ray shivered, because that tongue…it was painting _fire _on him and the line of fire seemed to catch like there was a trail of…whaddya call that stuff—_accelerant_—which ran down his chest, into his belly, into his cock. He wouldn’t have thought he could get any harder, but he seemed to be doing it.

 

“Oh! Good…that’s so good, Frase,” he whispered into Fraser’s hair.

 

Fraser’s head came up and he smiled at Ray, an honest-to-God happy smile, which was something Ray didn’t get to see on that handsome face too often. Fraser had his polite smile and his professional smile and even his “if it weren’t totally impolite I would fucking kill you” smile—which technically was more of a smirk—but this wasn’t any of those. It was an honest, simple, happy smile.

 

It was pretty cool that just _touching_ Ray had put that smile on Fraser’s face, and Ray found himself smiling back, because that wasn’t gay, or queer, or anything like that, it was just buddies.

 

Fraser’s hands came up under Ray’s shirt and lifted it till it was scrunched up under his armpits.

 

Ray shivered. Fraser was looking at Ray’s chest like he’d never seen it before  (which he had, lots of times) and like he thought it was something special (which it really wasn’t). He spread his big hands over Ray’s ribs and stooped a little to press his lips to Ray’s chest again and again, moving a few inches each time, covering him with little wet kisses. Each kiss was a little shock of pleasure—_there,_ and _there,_ and _there—_though Ray shouldn’t have been surprised, because Fraser’s mouth was incredible, had always been incredible, and when Ray was being honest with himself he had to admit he’d _dreamed_ about that mouth.

 

Fraser pressed the last little kiss over Ray’s left nipple and Ray almost jumped. Fraser’s tongue snaked out and licked Ray, right there, circling around his nipple and then stroking slowly right over the tip, and little shivers chased themselves happily over Ray’s skin. Fraser set the edges of his teeth against Ray’s nipple and scraped them over the tender skin there, and Ray gasped and wheezed out, “Fuck,” softly, drawing out the k at the end.

 

“This,” Fraser said, pushing at Ray’s t-shirt. “Off.”

 

And okay, okay, Ray could get on the same page here; he’d started it after all. He wanted Fraser so much it sometimes made his gut ache. He got his holster unhooked and shouldered out of it and the shirt pretty much in one piece and left the puddle of weapon and holster and shirt right on the floor. And then because he was a cop and he didn’t leave guns lying around in unlocked rooms where just anyone could get at them, he unglued one of his hands from the door and threw the deadbolt home.

 

He didn’t take his eyes off Fraser, though. He couldn’t make himself look away from the beads of sweat on Fraser’s upper lip or Fraser’s pink tongue twitching up to lick at them.

 

He wanted to suck on that tongue, but he wasn’t going to. He had to draw the line somewhere.  And he had to let Fraser know where the line was.

 

“Um. So, before we…there’s something you gotta remember here, Fraser. I am straight.”

 

Fraser looked at him like he was suddenly speaking Polish. Which Ray knew he didn’t do that, because his Polish sucked and he didn’t know the words for half these things in Polish.

 

“Ray…are you certain you wish to…”

 

“Yeah, I’m certain. I asked you, didn’t I?”

 

“Well, yes, but…I’m not sure what purpose is served by telling me you’re straight, Ray.”

 

“Straight guys can fuck, Fraser. They do it all the time.”

 

Fraser’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t say anything more than “Oh.” He still looked confused. His tongue appeared again, licked at his lip, disappeared. “Well, all right, I understand there are some cultural and linguistic differences…I don’t always understand the American…well differences of nomenclature aren’t important in the least; what is important…”

 

“Only thing that’s important is whether you want to do me right now.”__

 

Fraser winced. “I want to make love to you, yes.”  His hands settled gently on the waistband of Ray’s jeans.

 

Ray looked at him for a minute. Looked down at Fraser’s hands, resting on him, not moving. He looked back up at Fraser and grinned. “You say shed-ule, I say sked-ule?”

 

“Something like that,” Fraser said, smiling also. The pupils of his eyes were so wide, so black. He thumbed open the top button on Ray’s jeans.

 

“Okay,” Ray said, and that was it—Fraser pulled the zipper down and shoved Ray’s jeans and underwear down in one motion, careful of Ray’s hard-on.

 

Before Ray could even take another breath, Fraser was on his knees on the floor, helping Ray step out of his clothes and toe off his boots and socks, and Ray was naked, and his cock was nudging Fraser’s cheek.

 

And Fraser was turning his face toward it like it called him and he was answering.  He opened his mouth and took Ray in.

 

Just before Ray’s head went up and back and thunked into the door so hard that it probably shook the pictures on every wall on the third floor, Ray realized it really didn’t matter what the right word for…_this…_was. He was the question and Fraser was the answer and that was enough for now.

 

That, and the close, wet warmth of Fraser’s mouth, surrounding him, driving him out of his mind. Ray braced one hand behind him on the door and the other on Fraser’s head, trying, _trying_ not to pull his hair, and only half succeeding as Fraser sucked him for all he was worth. And Ray couldn’t look, he couldn’t open his eyes; he could only press his head back against the door—hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t care—and make sounds that he never knew he could make: deep, wrenching, scare-the-neighbors sounds. He didn’t care about that, either.

 

Fraser’s mouth on him was perfect.

 

Fraser interrupted his licking and sucking of Ray just long enough to take in an extra-capacity breath of air, and Ray lost it, shooting all over Fraser’s cheek before Fraser could get his mouth around him again. But Fraser tried, he fumbled Ray’s cock into his mouth again and he drank the last spurts, and he wiped his face with his hand and licked that off, too, wrapping his other arm around Ray’s thigh and leaning his head in the crease of Ray’s groin, breathing hard.

 

Ray melted against him, his knees going weak. He put his hands on Fraser’s shoulders and slid down to him.

 

Fraser’s eyes were bright, hot. He leaned forward and put his lips on Ray’s. His lips, glistening with Ray’s come.

 

Ray put his tongue out and licked over those lips, tasting himself. Wow. He licked down the side of Fraser’s cheek and down into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, nosing under the collar of Fraser’s shirt, and fastened his mouth there, giving Fraser’s shoulder the kiss that Ray wasn’t giving his mouth. When he’d kissed it good, he lifted his mouth off Fraser. “Frase, I’m…I just…”

 

“It’s okay.” Fraser’s big, warm hand came up around the back of Ray’s neck, cupping him there, and then slid up into Ray’s hair. “Do you still want—?”

 

“Oh, yeah. If you do.”

 

“Oh, yes, Ray.” Fraser’s other hand took hold of Ray’s and moved it onto the crotch of his jeans and pressed it there, and wow, Fraser was really fucking hard.

 

Really fucking big, and really fucking hard.

 

Ray’s mouth watered. He jerked his head towards the bedroom. “Okay, we should...”

 

Fraser took Ray’s hands and stood up, tugging Ray up with him, looking deep into his eyes. Fraser’s were so blue that Ray wanted to melt all over again.

 

“Yes,” Fraser said, “we should.”

 

So Ray pulled him into the bedroom fast, before either of them chickened out.

 

 

*****

 

 

“So we got to get something straight between us,” Ray says. They’ve dozed some, and they woke, kind of just looking at each other, comfortable next to each other, like when one of them has dozed off during a stakeout while the other one kept watch.

 

Ray’s lying back on his pillow, tired but not exhausted. Fraser’s next to him, not quite touching, and Fraser doesn’t even look tired at all.

 

Actually, Fraser’s looking at him with this serious expression, like maybe Ray’s about to say something that might hurt. But Ray’s really not. He just wants to get something straight_, _and Fraser should be happy about that, maybe even relieved.

 

“I’m straight. You’re straight.”

 

Fraser gives him that look again, that look like he just sprouted antennas or something. “Ray.”

 

“We’re cops.”

 

“Ray.”

 

“We are _tough_-guy cops.”

 

“Ray.”

 

“We play hardball.”

 

“Ray.”

 

“Speaking of which. I hit a game-winning grand slam for the Hawkeyes. No sissy can do that. I am a fuckin’ _hero_ in Willison, Illinois.”

 

“Deservedly so.” Fraser’s eyes were kind of shiny, not like he was humoring Ray, but like he was really proud of him. Which, Ray got that, Fraser really was proud, and how great was _that?_

 

“So this thing we got here, this is a _straight_-guy thing, even though some people would maybe think it’s not so much. But it is, ’cause we are guys and friends and partners. And this is…straightness, here, this is…”

 

“Gay, Ray.”

 

Ray smirks. “Gay Ray. Oh, cute, Fraser. Like I never heard _that_ anywhere before.”

 

Fraser swallows kind of hard. “Where did you hear it before?”

 

“Oh, Jeez, come on, what, you’re making it mean something? ’Cause it doesn’t mean anything, except it rhymes.”

 

“Where did you hear it?” Fraser’s quiet but persistent.

 

Ray rolls his eyes. “High school. Um. And grade school. Since I was ten and started going by ‘Ray,’ Fraser. Which is when it started rhyming. You know how kids are.”

 

Fraser swallows, looks down, looks back up again. “I know they can be cruel. I also know they can be brutally honest.”

 

“You mean like there’s _truth_ to it? C’mon, Frase, do I seem even a little bit gay to you?”

 

“Well, not stereotypically, if that’s what you mean.”

 

“Right,” Ray says, a little too fast, and maybe a little too sharply. “These wrists ever look limp to you?” He holds up a fist so tight that the veins in his forearm stand out like gnarled roots.

 

“No. Nothing about you is limp, Ray, not even your hair. Well, there’s one exception at the moment, but that part has a good excuse,” Fraser adds, and his eyes flicker down to glance at Ray’s crotch, and he has a tiny smile trying to crawl onto his lips at the corners.

 

“Hardy ha ha ha,” Ray says. “Ever see any swishing here? ’Cause if I was swishing anywhere, like in the two-seven, whaddya think would happen to me?”

 

“Ah,” says Fraser.

 

“Again with the ‘ah.’ You want to tell me what it means _this_ time?”

 

“Well, nothing, just that I understand….”

 

“You understand. You under—…you …what do you understand, Fraser?”

 

“Just that ‘swishing’ in the 27th would certainly not be a good idea, that policemen who ‘swish’ can have difficult careers. And no, to answer your question, you don’t swish, even a little.”

“Good. I mean, right. I don’t. Being such a _straight,_ macho guy and all. Chicago hard guy.”

 

Fraser smiles at him with that Fraser-smile that’s like half angel and half devil.

 

“What—what’s that mean?” Ray’s getting annoyed now.

 

“You _were_ hard, Ray. So hard…for me.” Fraser’s bottom lip trembles against the white line of his teeth, and one of his hands makes this quick little movement, like he’s remembering the feel of Ray in his hand.

 

Ray can’t look at that, he can’t. “Fraser! That’s not sounding all that straight.”

 

“Well, you’re the one who’s calling it ‘straight,’ Ray.”

 

“I _gotta_ be straight, Frase,” Ray says. “There’s no other way for me. I _can’t_ be Gay Ray.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“‘Hm’ yourself.”

 

“What did you do when they called you gay, Ray?”

 

“Popped ’em, what do you think?”

 

“Kicked them in the head?”

 

“When necessary.”

 

Fraser nods.

 

“What? What is that? Do _not_ nod like that, like the all-knowing Mountie solved some big mystery from Ray’s past. It just _rhymed,_ all right?”

 

Fraser cracks a pained smile. “They said it about me, too, Ray.”

 

“How? ‘Benton’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘gay.’ Neither does ‘Ben.’”

 

“They called me…‘Bent.’ ‘Bent Benton,’ sometimes.”

 

“Bent. Jeez. Kids.” Ray sighs. He’s quiet a moment, and then when he speaks again, his voice is all small and soft. “They call you ‘fag’?”

 

Fraser nods uncomfortably. “You?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s probably why I turned out so _straight,_ you know?”

 

“I know.” Fraser’s expression says he _does_ know, like maybe up in the Northwest Areas he had to be a little extra straight himself.

 

“Being a _straight_ guy and all, I started boxing and I got those steel-toed head-kicking boots.”

 

“I thought they were motorcycle boots.”

 

“I ain’t owned a bike since 1984. Bought the boots for head-kicking.”

 

“I see.”

 

“And, I mean, you think I would’ve made it through the Academy if I wasn’t so straight? You know what they do, how they can accidentally on purpose make you fail if they think you…”

 

“Swish?”

 

“Even a little bit. Yeah. Not that I would; that’s not me. It’s even worse once you get your shield. If they think you’d ever, you know, even _look_ at another guy—that’s queer enough for them to take it out on you. You ever seen a blanket party?”

 

Fraser swallows hard, but he shakes his head _no._

 

“It’s not pretty. Bunch of cops ambush a guy from behind, throw a blanket over his head and beat the shit out of him. Just for being queer. Just for being _suspected_ of being queer. And he can’t identify who did it, ’cause the blanket was over his head.”

 

Fraser swallows again, and his eyes—God, his eyes are so big and blue and wet like they’re going to cry. That means Ray really should stop, he really should shut up about this, because what does it matter, so many years later?

 

But Fraser apparently don’t think being queer is so bad, so Ray’s got to clue him in. Ray’s already seen Fraser all beat up, after Warfield’s goons knocked him around, and Ray doesn’t ever want to see that again. So the words spill out of him and his voice is going hoarse and he’s telling Fraser everything.

 

“They make sure they don’t kill the guy, and they make sure they don’t hit his head too hard, because if he’s dead or if he’s damaged too bad in the head, somebody else is going to go looking for them.

 

“But if his brain still mostly works, if he’s mostly the same except maybe, you know, maybe one of his eyes gets tired quicker than the other, and maybe he can’t always spit out the right word for something, but as long as he can still be a cop, he won’t press charges; hell, he won’t even report the incident. He’ll just tell his lieutenant he fell down the stairs or something.”

 

“While falling down stairs can cause grave injuries,” Fraser says, “it’s usually not that hard for a doctor to tell the difference between them and injuries caused by a beating.”

 

“You know that and I know that, but it’s the same kind of thing when you run a guy in for beating his wife and she won’t press charges. Every cop’s done that at some point; you talk to the woman till you’re blue in the face about how nobody should get to do that to her, but she lies. She says she got hurt some other way, and you have to watch the bastard walk—you’ve been there, haven’t you?”

 

Fraser nods uncomfortably. “Far more times than I would wish to remember.”

 

“Well it goes double for queer-bashed cops. They don’t talk. They’d swear on a stack of bibles they fell down the stairs. You think they’re going to come out after that? You think they’re going to be all, ‘we’re here, we’re queer, get over it?’”

 

“I can see why they wouldn’t,” Fraser says, and his voice sounds a little queer—ha-ha, Stanley Raymond, very funny, Ray thinks. He doesn’t feel like laughing, not one bit. He’s kind of more shocked at himself for telling Fraser this than he is for taking Fraser’s cock up his ass. Ray didn’t even tell _Stella_ about this. He couldn’t, because she would have felt she had to do something.

  
So Ray couldn’t tell her in so many words, but he hinted about who might know, and he knows Stella found out. He had to make it so she could find out, because he couldn’t stand the idea that she might wonder forever whether Ray did anything wrong that night. He couldn’t stand the thought of her not trusting him.

 

Fraser puts his hand up to Ray’s face, up to his hair, and he starts stroking and stroking, through his hair, down over his temple, over his ear, just gently enough to get Ray’s skin tingling.

 

Ray’s thoughts are getting kind of scattered, at least, more scattered than usual, because Fraser’s hand is distracting the hell out of him. But he zeroes in on one thing: Fraser’s face is still looking like he’s about to spill. In fact, tears are brimming in his eyes. Jeez. Ray’s really brought the mood down. What a jerk. Fraser was feeling great after that mind-blowing fuck, and Ray had to go get him so sad he might cry. Shit.

 

Ray grabs Fraser’s hand out of his hair and kisses the back of it real quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Frase. I didn’t mean to make you—”

 

“Sh. It’s all right, Ray,” Fraser says, pulling Ray into a hug. “I’ve always wondered about your, er, what you call your ‘damage’ and never had the courage to ask.”

 

“Huh. Kinda thought you knew.”

 

“No, how would I?”

 

“It’s not in my record, the sealed one you got into? There’s no entry there that says ‘Kowalski fell down a flight of stairs, knocked something loose in his brain? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink; if you shower next to the guy, don’t drop the soap’—nothing like that?”

 

Fraser pulls back enough to look Ray in the eye. “Nothing,” Fraser says. “There’s nothing in your written record about any such injury.”

 

Ray snorts. “Well it may not be on paper, but some people know. That’s why I got offered this Vecchio gig. You ever wonder why a guy would take an assignment like this, standing in for a detective he never met, partnering with a Mountie who jumps off buildings and into lakes? I mean, before he met said Mountie and became his partner and friend.”

 

“Well, yes, of course I’d wondered. Still, any conclusions I might have reached didn’t include ‘blanket parties,’ and no one has ever even hinted—”

 

“Nobody here knows,” Ray says. “I don’t think even Welsh knows. You remember S-Sam? Franklin?”

 

“Unfortunately.” Pain is etched in Fraser’s face. Pain for Ray’s pain. Christ, if that isn’t proof how much Fraser loves him. The guy is _suffering_ just thinking about stuff that hurt Ray.

 

“Yeah, well, you should know why it was so hard for me to believe he was dirty. Because Sam knows all about this stuff and he never once threw it back in my face. He never told anyone outside my district at the time, and I don’t know how he did it, but he shut up the guys who were yakking about it back at the one-eight. He was like another dad to me, when my own dad wasn’t saying two words to me at a time because he didn’t want me to be a cop.

 

“After the, you know, the blanket thing, I might’ve had to quit the force. Or…you know, risk making a call for backup that never came and get killed on the job. It’s because of Sam that none of that happened. He’s the one got me doing undercover. He called Welsh to suggest me for the Vecchio gig.”

 

Fraser clears his throat. “I stand corrected, then. It appears I have Inspector Franklin to thank for the opportunity to know you.”

 

“Yeah, you could say that.” It would be easier if Sam hadn’t tried to kill both Ray and Fraser a few months ago.

 

“But did he think the suspicions unfounded, or does he know that you really…ah…that is to say…”

 

“I don’t know. I never discussed it with him. I never discussed it with anybody. It’s not like I _could._ How do you disprove something like that? Any noise you make about it makes it sound like they’re right, puts the idea in people’s heads who never even had the idea before. You’re totally on the defensive. They got no evidence, no evidence whatsoever, but they’re still so damn sure they know that they beat the living crap out of a fellow cop and fuck up his, you know, his word-retrieval thingy for the rest of his life.” He shrugs. “So I’m damaged.”

 

Fraser leans close and kisses him, then, on the cheekbone, on the temple, and on his hair. “I don’t think of you as damaged.”

 

That kind of chokes Ray up a little, but in a good way.

 

“Besides, a ‘word-retrieval thingy’ just isn’t that important in the grand scheme of things,” Fraser says, and that finally makes Ray crack a smile.

 

“Nah, I guess it ain’t.” He sobers a bit. “Well you see why I fight and I scrap and I can’t be all nice and polite like a Canadian.”

 

“I always knew it was because you felt vulnerable,” Fraser says. “I just didn’t know _why.”_

 

“So now you know.” Ray shrugs. “That’s also why I never did nothing ‘gay.’ I’ve always been straight. Honest to God, I never touched another guy. Didn’t, um. Dare. Till you.” His hand finds Fraser’s under the blanket.

 

He can feel Fraser nodding, because Fraser has moved closer to him, their heads on the same pillow.

 

“I’m honored that you would ‘dare,’ with me.”

 

Ray’s quiet a while, then he turns on his back, but he carefully keeps his head on the pillow. The same pillow with Fraser. It’s probably dumb, but it seems important, like maybe if they’re both touching the same pillow they got a clear channel to understand each other that they maybe won’t have once they move.

 

“You ever touch another guy before?” Which, Ray kind of asked that question already, but it wasn’t exactly the same question.

 

“Well, um…yes, ah, well…no, actually, _he_ touched _me_.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“At Depot. A young man. He, ah, he offered…”

 

“Spill, Fraser. After what you were just doing to me, you’d think you could tell me anything. Which you could’ve before, even.”

 

“Yes, I know, Ray.” Fraser clears his throat. “He, ah, performed fellatio on me.”

 

“But you didn’t do him?”

 

“No, well, there wasn’t time, and there was the threat of discovery, so he took off, and then later…well, I wanted to, Ray; I would have reciprocated, of course, but he refused to have anything further to do with me. I think someone else may have frightened him away from any further attempts.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“He didn’t graduate.”

 

“But you did.”

 

“They didn’t know about me.”

“Yeah. Like I was saying.”

 

“Yeah,” Fraser echoes softly. He’s looking at Ray’s mouth again.

 

Ray swallows hard. “Damn it, Fraser.”

 

“I’d like to kiss you, Ray.”

 

“I know.” Ray doesn’t move, though.

 

“What do _you_ want, Ray?”

 

Ray _wants_ to kiss him. He’s always wanted to. From the first moment when he threw his arms around Fraser’s big solid frame right up to now when they’ve actually had sex, Ray’s wanted to kiss him, and yet he never has, and Fraser is still trying to argue his way past the armor Ray’s built up around his heart. Fraser’s trying to love him.

 

Fraser loves him.

 

Tears fill Ray’s eyes and he thinks he might feel a couple spilling over, just a little. He’s up against it. It’s either push Fraser away now, insist it was all a mistake, all some kind of weird fucked-up experiment, or let go and let Fraser in for real, and then be…

 

Ray knows what he’d be, because people have been telling him since they first figured out he was a freak. Gay Ray. Queer. A faggot.

 

Someone who’ll probably get his ass kicked all over Chicago once the word gets out.

 

A cop that nobody will want to work with, that nobody will talk to, a cop that will have to hear whispers behind his back, almost but not quite loud enough…. The worst part is having his fellow cops not trust him.

 

If there’s one thing that yanks Ray’s chain big time, it’s not being trusted.

 

He won’t be able to trust anyone, either. He’ll have to start pulling a Fraser out there on the streets, going it alone, because he won’t ever be sure backup will come when he calls it. He won’t be able to count on the one thing every cop’s supposed to be able to count on—that his brother cops will come running when he yells for help.

 

It occurs to Ray that maybe that’s how Fraser learned his Superman act. Maybe Fraser always wants to run in without backup because he learned somewhere never to trust that backup will arrive.

 

That’s where Ray’s going to be if he lets Fraser love him. Which, it’s funny, if the other cops knew what Ray’s already done, he’d suffer all of that anyway. He’d be so screwed, and not in the fun way.

 

And isn’t that ass-backward, that he let Fraser in his body but wouldn’t let him in his heart?

 

Isn’t it insane to care more about what a bunch of moronic fag-bashing cops think than what the best guy in the whole world thinks?

 

Ray’s got his priorities seriously fucked up, and he’s gotta fix them, because Fraser’s looking at him with those summerblue-Northern-sky eyes, and that sky still looks like it’s about to rain. It’s like Fraser’s been following Ray’s train of thought and Fraser fucking _knows _Ray’s more concerned about whether some asshole is going to paper his locker with centerfolds from _Blueboy_ than he is about whether Fraser gets _loved_.

 

And Ray knows what that storm is, the one brewing in Fraser’s eyes. Fraser can see he’s going to miss out on love because Ray’s a selfish fucking coward, and that is so wrong that Ray can’t begin to measure the wrongness.

 

Fraser swallows real hard and says, “You don’t like kissing, Ray?”

 

Which, Fraser knows that isn’t true; he’s seen Ray kiss girls. He knows Ray likes it.

 

Sometimes he thinks Fraser knows everything.

 

“Fraser, I’m trying to figure out how much ‘gay’ a straight guy can get away with.”

 

Fraser sighs, heavy and slow. “Do you think you might find it less stressful at this juncture if you weren’t so insistent on being quite so ‘straight,’ Ray?”

 

“This is a juncture?” Ray asked. “This is one of those, those, uh, junctures, huh?”

 

“I think it is, yes.”

 

“I’ve got to find the line,” Ray said. “There’s a line, you know.”

 

“You mean the kind you either cross or don’t cross?”

 

“Yeah. That’s what I mean. Is that the same as a juncture?”

 

“I suppose so. A juncture is a place where two things come together. It’s a joint, an intersection.”

 

Ray felt a small smile creep onto his face. “Yeah. I seem to remember your joint was in my intersection.”

 

Fraser smiles, too. “Ray, in the time I’ve known you, you haven’t seemed to let other people’s opinions stand in the way of doing what you want to do. How is this different?”

 

“Because they can kill me for it,” Ray says, and it’s a cold, hard word in a cold, hard voice. “I’d risk that,” he says fast to make up for it and because he’s not a sissy. “I just…I don’t want them touching you. I don’t want any of that ugliness touching you.”

 

Fraser puts his hand on Ray’s chest right over his heart. “I’ve always admired how well you know your own heart,” he says, quietly. “And how willing you are to follow it.”

 

Fraser barely gets those words out before his face just _falls._ Ray’s never understood that expression before, but he does now, because he feels the drop in his stomach as though _he _fell.

 

“What? What is it?”

 

The sky has gone from threatening rain to thunderclouds.

 

“On the other hand, it occurs to me I’m not the best person to give such advice, Ray, because there have been times when I thought I was following my heart, and instead I was making decisions out of a very damaged place, not healthy…”

 

Oh. Yeah. Her.

 

“…and I hurt people I care about very much, and I came very close to destroying my life and ruining Ray Vecchio as well, and…”

 

Oh, God. No. Fraser can _not_ go there, Ray can’t let Fraser go down that very dark path, thinking that he’s a hurter rather than a…

 

Fraser thinks his own heart can’t be trusted.

 

That’s when Ray realizes—finally—that Fraser’s got a hell of a lot of his own damage, too. It doesn’t show like Ray’s does, but it’s there. Fraser thinks there’s something so damaged in him that love will never work right for him.

 

And that’s not okay, the _universe_ is not okay if Fraser can’t be loved like he deserves.

 

Ray’s never met Ray Vecchio, but he read that case file three times through, trying to make sense of it, he was briefed by Welsh very privately and veryquietly, and he feels like he’s been given a sacred trust. He feels like he promised Vecchio he would not let Fraser go down that road again. _Over my dead body,_ Ray promised himself, and he’s pretty sure he heard Vecchio’s voice echoing in his head right along with his own.

 

And maybe a promise not really made isn’t much of a promise, and maybe Ray can let himself off the hook of any promises he made to himself, but he _knows_ Fraser now. He knows him and he’s crazy about him, he even feels responsible for him, not because he’s Ray’s partner, but because he’s _Fraser,_ and he needs Ray, and God, Ray needs Fraser like he needs his next breath of air.

 

Maybe that’s worth something. Maybe that’s worth Ray coming out and admitting the truth even if it hurts like hell. Even if it scares him and makes him want to freak out. Because he owes Fraser, he owes _himself _the truth.

 

“Okay. Okay. I get it.” Ray feels like he’s just stepped off the roof of a very tall building, like that warehouse a bunch of stories above the lake, and it’s down, down, down, waiting for the splash and the shock of cold waters closing over his head. But he’s going to do it, just like every other time he’s jumped with Fraser, for Fraser. You just close your eyes and leap, ’cause there’s nothing else to do. So he does.

 

“I admit it. I _am _a fag, Fraser. I ain’t standing up at a 12-step meeting and saying, ‘Hi, I’m Ray Kowalski, and I’m a fag. I’m a faggot, I’m queer, I’m bent.’ But it’s true. I’m a cop and I’m queer, I’m crazy out of my mind in love with my partner, I want my partner’s ass, I want my partner to do _my_ ass—’”

 

“Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. _Ray!”_

 

_“What,_ Fraser?”

 

“I…you’re what?”

 

“Didn’t you hear me? God, I said it enough times, plus, anyone would think you’d have got the message when I begged you to put your cock up my ass, wouldn’t you? I’m a fucking queer, Frase, and a fucking coward to not admit it—”

 

“No, the part about…you’re crazy out of your mind…”

 

“—in love with my partner, yeah.”

 

“You’re in love with me?” Fraser says like it’s some kind of revelation. The sun is coming up in those eyes again.

 

“Earth to Fraser. Did I not tell you that tonight? Have I not told you that?”

 

“Well, yes, you’ve said you love me, but you’ve usually qualified it. You love me ‘like a brother,’ or you love me ‘symbolically or something.’”

 

“That was just me chickening out of saying it the way I really meant it, because there were other people around,” Ray says, and his voice even sounds small, small and queer, the other kind of queer. “I…I had a thing for you since the moment I laid eyes on you in the 2-7. I just, uh, I told myself it was a straight-guy thing, a brother thing, or…a partner thing. Maybe.”

 

Ray shuts his eyes for a second, because, what he just said? It’s not true. He looks Fraser in the eye. “No, I knew. Damn it. I knew what the fuck it was. You remember the first thing I did was come up and hug you?”

 

“Oh, I do. I remember.” Fraser says it like the memory is something really special.

 

“If I’d held onto you a few seconds longer, you’d have felt my cock trying to poke a hole in your hip.”

 

“Oh, Ray.” Fraser’s arms tighten around Ray, and the feeling is, oh God, the feeling is so good. What’s even better is that Fraser gets it, he totally gets it.

 

“Yeah,” Ray says. He feels…free, because he’s finally coming clean about this. “Yeah, I knew. I knew, and I told myself the same lie as always, pretended to be all straight, pretended my cock getting hard when I saw you was some kind of adrenaline reaction.”

 

“Such reactions have been known to happen,” Fraser says, sounding all reasonable.

 

“Yeah, but that wasn’t it. You called my name, and I turned, and there you were, all red serge and pumpkin pants and looking so fucking gorgeous I couldn’t stand it.”

 

Fraser clears his throat. “I’m, er, glad you think so.”

 

Ray smiles. “You were the kind of guy I could never attract on my own, you know, but here I was about to become your new partner, and I wanted so bad to make it work.

 

“I mean, everybody else had been briefed, but you were the guy I had to really _enroll_ in me standing in for Vecchio. I needed you on my side or I couldn’t do it. And I’d seen your picture, I knew you were incredibly hot, but I didn’t…pictures aren’t the same, and there you were, and I just...I just responded, I couldn’t help it.”

 

“Ray…what makes you think you couldn’t have attracted me?”

 

“You saying I would have?”

 

“You are certainly handsome. Striking. I noticed, of course. I can’t imagine _not_ noticing you, even if I’d met you in other circumstances.”

 

Ray can’t help smiling at that. “Really?”

 

“Of course. But as events unfolded, you had an even greater impact. I was blindsided, bowled over. I could hardly believe this enigmatic man was someone I was going to get to see every day, and that we had to pretend to be close friends of two years and—and that on your insistence we were creating a—what you called a duet.”

 

Fraser’s tongue flickers out over his lower lip for a second, and Ray wants to chase it back inside Fraser’s mouth. Instead he focuses on the fancy word that Fraser tried to slip past him. “Enig—what?”

 

“Mysterious. Fascinating.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Wow, indeed. My God, Ray, you stepped in front of a bullet for me that very first day.”

 

“Aw, I had the vest on. They warned me about you and made me put it on that morning. I thought it was a joke. But I…I went along with it to, you know, be one of the guys. Hoped it would make them like me. When they saw that I could take a joke.”

 

Fraser shakes his head. “It was a split-second decision, Ray. You acted on blind instinct.”

 

Ray shrugs. “So?”

 

“I’d have known the mettle of the man who was my new partner right there and then, if I hadn’t already gleaned it from our experiences earlier that day. I already knew how brave you were. But at the waterfront, when you took that bullet for me, I knew you were a hero to the core.”

 

“Aw, come on.”

 

Fraser smiles. “You _are_ the hero cop described in your three citations, Ray. You asked me if I found you attractive. Hell, yes, I found you attractive. How could I not?”

 

Ray could read him chapter and verse on how it’s possible to not find Ray attractive, he could tell him about legions of people who have not wanted Ray, but none of it matters because Fraser _does_ want him.

 

“So…uh. Does it matter to you whether I call myself ‘gay’ or ‘straight’?”

 

“Labels don’t mean anything to me,” Fraser says. “You’re you, and I love you.”

 

Ray swallows pretty hard. “Yeah, I’m...” His voice isn’t strong. He clears his throat. “…I’m your lover,” he says, louder.

 

“I would be proud to think so.” Fraser sounds kind of tenta-whatsis. Not totally sure how Ray’s taking that.

 

Ray puts his finger on Fraser’s cheekbone and strokes over it gently down to the corner of Fraser’s mouth, which is an amazing mouth. “You mean that?”

 

“Absolutely, Ray.”

 

Ray kind of melts then, because Fraser, saying something like that? It has to be true. He’s _proud _to be Ray’s lover,and that means he really doesn’t care who knows.

 

Ray, though, Ray doesn’t live in a shack in the Yukon where nobody meddles in anybody else’s business.

 

Ray lives down here in the real world where it _matters_ who knows, and what they think, and whether they own a nightstick, and whether they ever hit anybody with it through a blanket.

 

 

Ray’s finally admitted the truth to himself and to Fraser. The irony is, he can’t admit it to anyone else. He’s still stuck living a lie. He suffered enough for being gay back at the 1-8 when he wasn’t gay, or at least never did anything gay. Now that he actually is gay, he can’t expect things to get easier. He has to get real, here. It could kill his career and his reputation and it could kill him.

 

And even if he’s willing to risk all that—and he probably _is _willing—it could kill Fraser’s career and reputation and it could kill Fraser, and Ray’s not willing to risk _that._

 

But he knows and his lover knows. That’s something. Him and Fraser, they’re _partners,_ they’re singing duet, like Ray wanted.

 

It fills Ray up and his throat sort of feels like it’s closing up, it’s got a lump in it, and he’s really going to spill over. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s cried in front of Fraser, that’s for sure. It won’t be the last. It doesn’t matter.

 

The tightness in Ray’s chest is about to burst. Ray knows there’s only one thing left to do, and that’s let go. Let go and take the leap, like he pretty much always ends up doing. He’s taken a lot of leaps with Fraser, and this might be the riskiest, even counting the leap they took off a multi-story building into Lake Michigan.

 

If Ray drowns this time, that’s okay, that’s fine, because he had this moment, he had this night with Fraser and it’s been greatness, in a way he would never have known if he hadn’t taken the leap.

 

So he leaps again. He opens his arms wide and puts them around Fraser, he pulls Fraser in close, real tight, and he leans forward, he leans forward, and he’s kissing Fraser, he’s kissing him, finally.

 

And it’s good. It’s good and it’s _right, _finally, because Fraser is the only person in the world who really knows Ray, knows all of him, and he still wants him.

 

“Oh God, Fraser,” Ray breathes against Fraser’s neck when he comes up for air. “Oh God, oh God.”

 

“Don’t worry, Ray,” Fraser murmurs.

 

“It’s what I do,” Ray protested. “Someone’s got to.”

 

“I’m here. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

 

“You’ll catch me and you’ll buddy-breathe me and you won’t let me drown?”

 

“Never let you drown,” Fraser says, his voice muffled because he says it into Ray’s mouth as he comes in for another kiss.

 

And it’s good. It’s so good, and Ray doesn’t know how it’s all going to work out, but he knows this is _it,_ he’s with Fraser now, whatever it takes, and maybe someday they’ll be able to do stuff like hold hands in public and maybe even have a wedding.

 

They can’t do that stuff now, but Ray can live with that, because he knows who he is and Fraser knows who he is, and they have each other.

 

For everything else, Ray figures he can wait.

 

 

 

 

 

_—fin—_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heartfelt thanks to three wonderful people who provided beta services: danceswchopstck, isiscolo, and aukestrel, who betaed it twice, who understood what I was trying to do with this story, and who probably deserves some kind of medal for being so sweet and patient. Each of my betas helped in a different way, and all of the help was invaluable. I am very grateful.
> 
> Many thanks also to all of the others, especially catalenamara, who listened to me complain and whine for a year over not having this story finished. You were all so patient with me, and I appreciate all the hand-holding and the understanding that came my way over those many months.


End file.
